Transmigrated to the Northern Song Dynasty as a County Magistrate (GL) - Chapter 88

88: If It Doesn’t Work Out, We Part Ways

Wei Shier, who had followed Tian Qingyi to the gate, couldn’t help but advise, “No high-ranking official goes out without a single attendant. Master, you should at least take Zhou Ba. If not him, take me—I can run errands. Or at least bring a couple of guards for safety.”

Wei Shier knew his master had some martial skills, but in his heart, Tian Qingyi was first and foremost a scholar-official, a “star of literature.” If she really encountered trouble, those rudimentary skills wouldn’t protect her.

Five years ago, he had fallen for a kitchen maid who reciprocated his feelings. After reporting it to Tian Qingyi, Yun Jingchu arranged a simple wedding for them. Now their child is already four. Other servants of age who fancied each other were also encouraged to marry, and even those who wanted to leave for outside relationships were allowed to do so after paying their redemption fees.

Among the household staff, only Qingyu and Ruoshui remained unmarried. Tian Qingyi and Yun Jingchu never pressured them or made inappropriate matches, even instructing others not to gossip. Given Qingyu’s long service and Ruoshui’s role in raising Yuchen, no one dared to offend them.

Tian Qingyi’s private promise to eventually free them from servitude still stood, filling Wei Shier and his wife with hope and motivation. Such generous employers were hard to come by, so he took Tian Qingyi’s safety especially seriously.

Normally, Tian Qingyi never went out without him or Zhou Ba, even to court. But today, she was meeting an old friend alone at dawn, which struck him as odd—though he couldn’t pinpoint why.

“We agreed beforehand not to bring attendants. How can I break my word?” Tian Qingyi replied, noting the worry in Wei Shier’s eyes, now framed by crow’s feet and a darker complexion. Despite his minor flaws, his loyalty was undeniable. She stuck to her prepared excuse—the truth was impossible to share.

“Go back. Attend to your duties.” Without waiting for further protest, Tian Qingyi walked away without looking back.

Snow from two days prior still lingered in street corners. Since her destination was far, she hired a carriage—not toward Taiping Xingguo Temple, but toward the bustling Fan Tower.

Upon arrival, she went straight to a private room reserved earlier by Qingyu, who was disguised as a scholar. Shi Qian, posing as a dancer, also slipped in unnoticed. Their relief was palpable when Tian Qingyi entered.

Assigned this task without explanation, they had obeyed out of habit. Even Qingyu hadn’t questioned why she’d been sent to book the room.

For half an hour, Tian Qingyi and Qingyu acted out a reunion of old friends. They ordered tea, a chessboard, and ample food—enough to last the day—before complaining about the “noisy” dancer and sending her away.

Once the performance for absent observers was complete, Tian Qingyi changed into a gray cotton outfit with matching pants, shoes, and hat, subtly altering her appearance. Qingyu transformed into a wealthy lady, while Shi Qian took Qingyu’s earlier disguise.

After instructing Shi Qian, Tian Qingyi and Qingyu left the room unnoticed and exited Fan Tower openly as mistress and maid. Hiring another carriage, they headed for Taiping Xingguo Temple.

Dressed as a servant, Tian Qingyi sat outside the carriage while the driver led the horse through lively streets. Her mind, however, was elsewhere.

Though she longed to kill Ma Zhusege, her martial skills were insufficient. Negotiation was her only option, and her sole bargaining chips were herself and her facade of loyalty.

With no insight into Ma Zhusege’s thoughts or whether he’d even show, she could only pray and improvise.

Arriving early at the temple, Tian Qingyi excused herself during Qingyu’s prayers, expecting to wait. Instead, Ma Zhusege was already there.

Two weeks prior, she’d had Shi Qian hire someone to reserve this meditation room for a month, securing the only key. Yet upon entering, she found a sealed letter on the table.

Encrypted, it lay in plain sight, impossible to ignore.

The message was brief. Thanks to her sharp memory, Tian Qingyi quickly decoded it: Ma Zhusege had changed the meeting location to a rural temple.

Burning the letter with the room’s tinderbox, she locked up and rejoined Qingyu. They hired another carriage and left.

—

Meanwhile, at Shangfu Courtyard, Yun Jingchu was reviewing account books when the servant tailing Tian Qingyi returned unusually early. She had been awake when Tian Qingyi visited that morning.

Though initially furious at Jiufang Xiyan’s secrecy, her anger had cooled over time. She stopped avoiding Tian Qingyi, only to find the latter now using work as an excuse to come home late—effectively avoiding her.

Where once Tian Qingyi would coax her out of any mood, now there was only evasion. This reignited her frustration, prompting her to spy on Tian Qingyi’s daily activities. For half a month, nothing seemed amiss—until today’s trip to Fan Tower with a dancer.

Furious, Yun Jingchu nearly stormed out to drag Tian Qingyi back, but stopped at the door.

I’m no ordinary woman, nor some neglected wife. If we can’t make this work, we’ll part ways. I won’t demean myself like a common shrew.

Resolved, she decided to confront Tian Qingyi upon her return. Calming herself, she dismissed the servant: “You may go. No more surveillance.”

Relieved, the servant bowed and left swiftly. Though Yun Jingchu managed household affairs, the staff’s ultimate loyalty lay with Tian Qingyi.

Eyeing the Diamond Sutra—a favorite of Tian Qingyi’s—on the desk, Yun Jingchu pondered how their relationship had deteriorated without major conflicts. If love had faded, she’d sooner let go than cling. She could earn her own money and start the school alone.

Her recent proposals for a school had been met with delays or absentmindedness—now seeming like deliberate avoidance.

Fortunately, she wasn’t one to wait idly. Drafts for the school were ready, a location was being scouted, and she’d even inquired about potential female teachers.

The project would be costly, but she was willing.

Though she cursed Tian Qingyi inwardly, Yun Jingchu eventually refocused on the accounts, regaining her composure.

—

Unaware that Yun Jingchu suspected infidelity and contemplated separation, Tian Qingyi puzzled over Ma Zhusege’s location change.

Did he fear an ambush? But his men could scout the area and see I came alone.

Or does he plan to kill me? That seemed more likely. Taiping Xingguo Temple, as an imperial institution, would be inconvenient for such dealings.

The thought chilled her. Facing death twice at the same man’s hands terrified her, but there was no turning back now.

Knowing Ma Zhusege’s habits, she had the carriage stop two 30 minutes from the temple. After dismissing the driver, she instructed Qingyu: “Proceed as we planned. If I’m not back in an hour, come find me. No sooner.”

Qingyu nodded, sensing something different in her master today—a mix of resolve and sorrow, especially now, as reluctance thickened in Tian Qingyi’s eyes.

Alighting, Tian Qingyi trudged through icy mud, hands tucked in her sleeves against the cold.

The rural temple was small, its layout immediately apparent. Yet upon entering, a burly man materialized to demand, “What’s your business here?”

“Travel-weary and thirsty as a homing bird, I beg for respite,” Tian Qingyi replied with a bow, her breath fogging in the air, boots caked in mud.

Satisfied with the code phrase, the man led her to the main hall, where miniature Buddha statues lined the walls. The largest was half the size of those at Taiping Xingguo Temple.

A figure in fox fur and a brocade cap knelt devoutly before the altar.

After a silent Khitan salute, the guide withdrew, presumably returning to his post.

Seeing no one else, Tian Qingyi approached and saluted in Khitan fashion. “Greetings, Chief.”

Ma Zhusege didn’t turn. Only after finishing his prayers did he glance at her. “As a child, you worshipped devoutly. Now, even with Buddha before you, you won’t bow. Are you still you?”
His tone was flat, hands still pressed together, whether in prayer or supplication, it wasn’t clear.